Dissemblance
by Sinistra250
Summary: Batman and Superman. Bruce and Clark. How they met, stopped hating each other, how they became friends, how they discovered the secret identities and finally, how they became part of the same team. Temporary Summary
1. Chapter 1

_dissemble, dissembled, dissembling, dissembles: to disguise or conceal behind a false appearance; to make false show of, feign; to disguise or conceal one's true nature, motives or feelings behind a false appearance. _

X

The air is colder here, I think, though I may just be imaging the temperature difference on account of my new surroundings. The warm, bright cheer of Metropolis has been replaced by the bleak, somber city of Gotham, which brings a sort of gloom to everything (_even my thoughts_). I can see why it attracts the sort of crooks that seem to flock here, and why the place's defender is such a dark character (_living in such a place would make anyone crazy or depressed_).

I touch down at the top of a skyscraper—Wayne Tower, the centre of the city—and wait. I have a hunch that it won't take long for the man I'm waiting for to show up.

As I look down at the city, illuminated by the artificial light that naturally comes with night in such a bustling city, I wonder why anyone would love this place, as harsh and desolate as it is. Metropolis is naturally charming, gleaming, clean—everything Gotham _isn't_. My cape is blown away from my body by a sudden gust of wind, and I involuntarily shiver in the cold it brings with it (_even the normally invulnerable cannot avoid something like weather_). Yes, it _does_ seem colder here, no matter what the weathermen say—they're wrong a lot anyway, it doesn't matter that Gotham and Metropolis are only an hour's drive away. I hope that the person I wish to meet will make an appearance soon (_I want to go home_).

It's as if the other can hear my thoughts (_wouldn't put it past him_), landing a second after that just behind me, on the actual spire of the tower. I don't turn immediately to look at the other man, instead thinking carefully about what I'm going to say to him before I acknowledge his presence. He has other plans.

"What are you doing here?" he asks (_demands_). I almost shiver at his voice, rough and deep. It's almost like a growl (_like an animal—how fitting_).

"I wanted to meet you," I answer, and turn around to face him. He's crouched on the tip of the spire (_he's obviously good at keeping his balance or he wouldn't have tried such a dangerous stunt_), his black cape fluttering slightly in the wind. His mask covers the top half of his face (_I have half a mind to use my x-ray vision to see who he really is, but decide that would make a bad first impression_) and I am slightly unnerved by the white eye-shaped parts of the mask that stare unblinkingly, motionlessly at me (_I assume—it's impossible to tell what he's looking at_). His face is blank.

"Why?" demands the man in black. His voice is demanding, not a hint of curiosity in it, only hostility (_I hope he doesn't want a fight—that isn't what I came for at all_). "Metropolis is your turf, Superman."

I laugh and fold my arms over my chest, covering up the red "S" symbol. "My _turf_? Is that what this is about—being in your space?" I realize that he isn't going to respond until he gets an answer to his original question: why am I here? (_Apparently he doesn't believe that I truly just wanted to meet him._) "Honestly, Batman, I just wanted to meet you! I was hoping we could work together. We _are_ the only superheroes on the East Coast right now, and I thought that maybe, well... we could... help each other out... or not." I trail off as his expression changes from emotionless to a menacing grimace.

"Not," growls the man in obvious distaste. (_Very protective of his "turf." I'll have to remember that._) Suddenly, a light appears in the sky, reflected on one of the clouds hovering over Gotham City. Superman smiles: it's the symbol of a bat. The black-clad man stands and turns, just barely staying on the point of the needle protruding from Wayne Tower (_very, **very**__good at keeping his balance_). Taking out a grappling hook, he shoots it and gives it a tug to make sure it's securely attached to the building on the other side of the street (_wouldn't want to take a nasty fall, of course_).

Batman hesitates before jumping, and says, "Go back to Metropolis—this is _my_ city. You aren't welcome here." And then he leaps from the tower, disappearing into the night. I could use my super-vision to find him, but I find that I don't want to ruin the mystery.

(_That went well_.)

X

It turns out Gordon called me for something simple, just information on a weapons smuggling operation one of the Gotham crime families is running. (_Though__I'm grateful for the rescue from that awkward encounter with the alien._) I take down the hired muscle quickly, tie them up and call Gordon, leaving them for the police to find. I don't like to remain at the scene until the police arrive—too many people seeing me in my costume still makes me skittish.

I go back to the Cave earlier than I usually would, since it's a slow night. As I climb out of the tumbler, I hear my butler (_father, best friend, confidante_) Alfred greet me. I answer him with a grunt and head straight for the computer.

"Will you be wanting dinner, sir, or should I go back to the apartment for now?" asks Alfred. I groan and slump down in the chair in front of the Cave's supercomputer, my visions of going right up to bed for a nice, relaxing sleep after finishing up the night's duties as Batman destroyed as I remember that there is no bed to go to upstairs.

"Are you alright, Master Bruce?" I shrug off Alfred's concern.

"I'll be fine," I answer, and I open my mouth to tell him to go back to the apartment we're staying in while we rebuild the Manor when I change my mind. "Would you mind staying here for a while?" When he doesn't say anything, I quickly add, "I won't be long."

He smiles at me and sits down in an extra chair I hadn't noticed before. "Very good, sir." Sensing that I just didn't want to be alone, he strikes up a conversation while I run a search on Superman. "How was the patrol tonight? I didn't hear of anything big."

"Took out a few goons from what's left of the Falcone family," I tell him. "Well, what's left of it. They've started falling apart after we put Carmine away."

Alfred nods, remembering. "That's so, sir. But that wouldn't have you in such a mood. Did something else happen?" I let a small grin slip through to the surface. (_Are you really as perceptive as you seem or am I just too predictable?_)

"That _alien_ came here," I grind out. "He said he wanted to 'meet me,' though I doubt that's all he was doing here."

"Why?" asks Alfred.

"I don't know why he really came—" Something rare happens: Alfred cuts me off.

"I meant how do you know he _didn't_ just come here to meet the Batman?" he asks me. I fall silent. I've never really spoken to Alfred about Superman. I've never really spoken to him about Superman—he wouldn't understand why I dislike and distrust the man.

"I don't trust him," I say quietly.

"Why not, sir? What has he ever done to make you dislike him? Other than save the world, of course," Alfred says only half-sarcastically.

"He's... why is he a hero, Alfred? What does he owe the world? He has no obligations to us humans! He has nothing in common with us other than this world and it isn't even _his_," I say angrily, turning away from the computer. "What's to stop him from deciding that he doesn't want to _protect_ us anymore and just taking over?"

"I see," says the older man quietly, and my stomach plummets as I hear disappointment in his voice. I wonder what it is I've done to upset him. "You're saying you don't trust Superman because he isn't _human_, is that it? Because he's... _different_, Master Bruce?" (_Ah, there it is. He thinks I'm prejudice._)

"No," I answer flatly. "Just listen. What if he was to decide that humans couldn't take care of this planet ourselves--what's to stop him from taking over? Me? The government? There's no one that could match his power. And that _scares_ me, Alfred." He looks surprised by that admission. Truth be told, I'm rather rattled by it myself—I'd planned never to say anything to anyone about it.

"Perhaps," he starts, then clears his throat and begins again. "Perhaps you will simply have to _trust_ Superman. Or at least give him a chance to prove himself to you instead of running him out of town."

I give him a half-smile and turn back to the computer, where the search for files on Superman has ended. I shut down the computer without looking at any of them.

"Perhaps you're right, Alfred," I answer him. "Maybe I should give him a chance." (_Let's hope he doesn't waste it._)


	2. Chapter 2

"_The value of identity of course is that so often it comes with purpose." –Richard R. Grant_

X

Eleven forty-five. I tap my pen against the beginning of the article I just wrote, crossing out a few words here and there, editing any obvious errors and thinking about anything but work. I wonder if now would be too early to leave for lunch—I normally go at twelve thirty, but maybe no one will notice. I'm so distracted (_I can't stop thinking about him_). I try to keep my wits about me as Perry walks by and asks me if I've seen Lois.

"No, I haven't," I answer mildly, acting slightly surprised to be spoken to. "Not at all today."

"Thanks, Kent," he answers, and I can see a smile tugging at his lips as he walks away. I know he likes me. I'm a good reporter: honest, fair and never afraid to get my hands dirty to get the full picture. But for all that, I'm also modest (_doesn't seem like it right now, Kent_).

Fighting against the urge to check the rest of my article at super speed, I stand up at twelve sharp, shuffling my papers back into a neat pile before grabbing my coat and walking out of the building. No one says a word.

I decide to go to the small pizza place not far from the _Daily Planet_'s building when I see them, going into a jewelry shop on the other side of the street. As I disappear into the nearest dark alley, I wonder what the two of them are doing here. I don't know who they are, really, but I recognize them as being a supervillain duo from Gotham. Why decide to come to Metropolis?

I rush back to the scene in time to stop the younger of the two, the girl, from gassing the store's owner with that demented laughing gas and turn to catch the man only to see _him_ taking care of it. I stand by and let him take care of it, watching him fight. It's really something to see (_beautiful—he makes fighting an art_), and I can tell why the news in Gotham covers so many of Batman's fights. He has a natural grace that I rarely see, and I find it vaguely hypnotizing. I suck in a breath as he just barely avoids being hit with some of that poison (_don't let him hurt you_), and smile when he beats the psycho—the Joker, I remember, his name is Joker.

As he's tying up the Joker for the police to find, I wonder if he knows I'm there. He must, I figure, since he came in _after_ I took out the Joker's assistant. Then why hasn't he acknowledged me? I decide to say something to him.

"Little far from Gotham, aren't you?" I ask mildly, forcing myself not to smile at him. I know he's going to think that I'm serious, which I find highly amusing.

"I was in the neighborhood," he replies dryly.

"Oh? Business or pleasure?" I ask, fully aware that I'm being nosy. He tucks something back into his utility belt as the bystanders begin to crowd around the shop.

"Meet me in the alley across from the _Daily Planet_ and I'll tell you all about it," he says, and I get the feeling that he's staring right through me. My heart leaps at his words (_what does he know?_).

"Why there?" I ask, doing my best to sound casual and curious instead of scared and paranoid.

"That building is the biggest building in this area of Metropolis, making it easy for me to find, and I would prefer meeting in the shadows as opposed to the top of the building," he answers simply. I breathe a sigh of relief (_he doesn't know_).

I nod and promise to be there. He gives a quick nod and is gone before most of the police arrive, staying just long enough to instruct them to have the two transferred back to Arkham Asylum.

I rush back to the office, stopping to pull Clark Kent's clothes on over the suit and almost forget my glasses in my haste. I walk back into the office and run straight into Perry.

"Where _were_ you, Kent?!" he yells. "I was calling you! I wanted you on the jewelry store Batman/Superman showdown and now you've missed it!"

"Gosh, Perry, it's a good thing I saw the whole thing happen then, isn't it?" I say, and he stops and breaks into a wide grin.

"That's my boy, Smallville!" Perry says. "You always manage to get the story. Someday you'll have to tell me how you do it." I laugh and run the back of my neck in a gesture of discomfort that's only half-feigned.

As I'm trying to write up an article about the mysterious appearance of Batman in Metropolis for the morning edition of the paper, I can't stop thinking about him. Why is he here? If he were only here because the Joker came, then he wouldn't stay after apprehending them. Would he really come to see me—to see Superman? I think (_hope_) so—it's the only reasonable explanation, after all.

After two hours of sitting at my desk, writing and almost immediately scratching out anything I write it's time to leave. I figure that I'll just come in early, after I've solved this business with Batman and finish the article. I'll know more about it then, anyway.

X

It's only been a month since my meeting with Superman, but much has changed in my city since then. When he first came, I was nothing more than a vigilante, a single man working against the system. Now I have the full sanction and backing of the police department, caused by Jim Gordon becoming Commissioner.

The signal had only been in use for a few weeks and still amused me a bit when it lit up the night sky, but there was nothing amusing about what Gordon had to say that night. He told me that the Joker and Harley Quinn had escaped from Arkham yet again and were, for some reason, on their way to Metropolis. He suggested that it might be a good idea to let Superman handle it, an idea that I never even considered.

I flew there, the trip only taking forty minutes by copter. It turns out I was there just in time, as the Joker and Harley were robbing a jewelry store. Their choice of target automatically made me suspicious, it not being the Joker's usual sort of mark. I grew even more wary as I took down the Joker with ease. It was _never_ this simple, catching the Joker. I knew there was something wrong.

I told Superman to meet me at midnight, which I thought would give me enough time to figure out what was wrong with the whole situation. It was.

I'm waiting for him now, standing in the shadows of the alley. I'm five minutes early, but he's there less than a minute after I am.

"Come to see me?" he asks. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and fold my arms over my chest instead.

"Something like that," I respond. His smirk turns into a smile and I can tell he understood that to be a "yes." I scowl. (_I can't have anyone thinking I'm actually nice, now can I?_)

"I'm flattered," he says, and he's so sincere about it that I can suddenly see why he's considered the "ultimate hero" by nearly everyone in America. "But what specifically made you come here?" Ah, so it's right to business, then. I like that he knows how to be serious.

"Someone sent the Joker and Harley to kill you," I tell him. I don't have any proof of it yet, but I'm certain I'm right. The things the Joker said near the end of his stay in Arkham about "going into a new business" and the fact that he's determined to beat Batman and wouldn't leave Gotham for anything unimportant have convinced me.

"Who?" asks Superman, and I notice that he doesn't sound angry or suspicious, just weary. He reacts exactly as the Batman _wouldn't_. Instead of standing here talking about it, I would be off gathering whatever evidence I could. That he would trust me to help him when I had told him that would never—_could_ never—work together fascinates me. Maybe that's the difference that makes Superman such a huge public symbol while I cling to shadows: his ability to trust.

"Who?" he repeats, snapping me out of my daze. I return my gaze back to him and the look in his eyes surprises me. (_Is that... __**concern**__? Can't be. No one should be concerned for the Batman—Alfred excepted, of course_.)

"I don't know yet," I admit slowly. "But I intend to find out." I open my mouth to tell him that I'll come back when I have something more substantial than a hunch when I remember Alfred's words. _Perhaps you will simply have to _trust_ Superman. Or at least give him a chance to prove himself to you..._

I reach into my utility belt and grab a small, metal device. I toss it to him and he catches it easily. He looks at it and raises an eyebrow. "A transmitter?" he says. I nod.

"It uses a secure frequency," I tell him as he stares at it. (_I wish I could find out what he's thinking._) "I'm going to give you a chance to earn my trust." He stands perfectly sill, not even the breeze touching him, and then he puts the transmitter in his ear and smiles at me.

"Thank you," I hear him say softly, and I nod mechanically before disappearing into the shadows.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down." -Unknown_

X

"_GOTHAM'S BATMAN SIGHTED IN METROPOLIS!_" The morning issue of the _Daily Planet_ sits on the table as I glare at it. (_This__ is one of the reasons I don't want to be involved with anyone else as Batman._) The writer, Clark Kent, has printed an article about the new partnership between Superman and the "Dark Knight," as they're now calling me. The article wouldn't annoy me if it weren't for the last two paragraphs—

"_But what caused the Batman to come to Metropolis and initiate the partnership? Why did the Joker and his assistant, Harley Quinn, decide to hit up our city instead of sticking close to home as they've always done in the past? Only Batman could say, and he's not talking._

"_Why does he hide in the shadows? Why would he want his good—great—deeds to go unnoticed? Whoever the Batman is, I know that we would all like to hear from him._"

It's a clear challenge. He wants me to show myself in public and give them enough for the papers.

My cell phone rings, and I reach over and flip it open. Annoyed, I bark, "What?"

"Good morning to you as well, Master Bruce," answers Alfred, patient as ever. I sigh, feeling bad about snapping at him and unconsciously run a hand through my hair.

"Sorry, Alfred," I say. "But this reporter, Kent, he wrote an article about me."

"I saw, sir. The article is actually the reason I called," Alfred tells me. "He's clearly challenging you. Are you going to accept?" (_Thank goodness my paranoia isn't making me imagine this whole ridiculous situation—Alfred sees it too_.)

"What choice do I have?" I ask softly. "I have to be able to work with Superman to catch the Joker's employer, and to work comfortably with Superman, I can't have his entire city against me." I can imagine Alfred nodding, looking speculative.

"A fair point, Master Bruce," Alfred responds. "Might I suggest appearing at a press conference as Batman _with_ your new partner?"

"Acquaintance, Alfred, not _partner_," I correct. (_Partner makes it sound like we're friends—that is a luxury I cannot afford. Even though Superman can protect himself against enemies who might use any connection against us, he might find out who I really am. That is a risk that I'm unable to take._)

"Of course, sir," answers Alfred, amusement shining through in his voice. I scowl, knowing he thinks that I've found someone who could understand this "hero nonsense," as he puts it.

"Really, Alfred—" I stop as I hear a crackling in my other ear. It's the transmitter I linked to the one I gave Superman. "I'll call you later tonight."

"Very good, sir," he answers. "I'll expect you home tomorrow evening as planned, then?"

"Yes," I tell him, and hang up. I switch on the earpiece in the other ear and pitch my voice to match the low, rough tenor of Batman's voice. "Superman."

"Batman," he answers, and I can hear traffic in the background. He's probably on top of some building, out where anyone can see him (_not very subtle, is he?_). "I've gotten a lead on who sent the Joker and his assistant." So have I, but I don't tell him this. I'll wait and see if his information matches mine before making a move.

Instead of responding, I wait for him to continue. There is a moment of rustling and silence before he continues. "I think they're working with Lex Luthor." I nod to myself: it's exactly what I expected. I'm about to say goodbye and hang up before I remind myself that I still have something he doesn't know (_if you're going to work with him, you're going to have to learn how to share information_).

"Luthor's working with someone else," I tell him. More specifically, I think Luthor is working with the government, or at least a faction of it. But I can't prove connections anywhere near that caliber yet, so I decide not to say anything.

"How sure are you?" asks Superman, sounding concerned. I wonder if Luthor's worked with others in the past that would worry the "Man of Steel."

"Sure," I respond flatly. There is a beeping sound coming from the table, and I turn back to it. The programme I installed into my laptop informs me that the Joker and Harley are hitting up a tech warehouse. I fold down the screen and head to the hotel suite's bedroom to change into the suit. "The Joker's at a tech warehouse on ninth street."

"Is that what the address said?" he asks, sounding surprised. I assure him that I'm not mistaken with a grunted "yes." "Batman, that's a _Lexcorp_ warehouse." I sigh and tell him I'll meet him there in a few minutes.

I make a note to call Alfred and tell him that I'll be a few more days than expected in getting back home to Gotham.

X

I finish up the article just in time for the morning edition of the paper, earning an "atta boy" from Perry. I know I shouldn't be accusing Batman of being suspicious since I'm working with him now, but I _would_ like answers to those questions (_and many more_). Maybe if I can just get him to agree to a press conference or an interview, I can learn enough about him to figure out who he is (_but I'm not looking under the mask—that would take all the fun out of things_).

I spend a few hours doing more research on the Joker before I make the obvious conclusion: Lex Luthor paid him and Harley Quinn to come here to kill me. I go on a search for proof to back up my theory and strike gold. I find it when I hack into Arkham's files and take a peek at the visitor's log: one of Luthor's goons visited the Joker the day before the demented clown broke free (_again_).

I take my lunch break early again and head up to the roof of the _Daily Planet_ building. I'm just about to call Batman and tell him what I've found out when the door opens and Lois comes out.

"Hey Clark," she greets me casually. "Slow day so far."

"Still early, Lois," I answer with a smile. "There's more than enough time for some maniac or other to come calling." She laughs, and we spend a moment looking down at the gleaming buildings of Metropolis. It's a beautiful city, and while it will never replace Smallville as my _home_, it's certainly worked its way into my heart.

"I wonder what Batman sees in that cesspool of a city," Lois murmurs. (_I've wondered that myself, Lois_.) I try to answer her.

"It's his home," I say with a shrug. "Commissioner Gordon said that Batman hopes to start by running the crime families out of Gotham and working his way down from there. Of course, there are also more than enough psychos to keep him occupied."

"Like Joker," she says. "I wonder why he came here."

"I have a few ideas," I tell her with a smirk.

"Let me guess, you're going to make me wait for the article?" she asks with a sigh and a raised eyebrow. I respond with a wink. "Fine, Smallville, be that way." She grins at me to let me know she isn't serious and walks back inside. I lean against the door to stop anyone else from coming up as I activate the transmitter.

As I talk to Batman, I know there's something he isn't telling me and I wonder why he's keeping something from me. We're partners now, so we shouldn't have to hide any information from each other. Maybe he just has a feeling and not enough proof to back it up? Knowing the kind of attention to detail the Bat indulges in, it seems more than likely that he would want something concrete before voicing anything.

He tells me that the Joker is at Lexcorp's warehouse, and I'm tempted to go running to Lois. (_Here's an end to your quiet day_.) Instead, I take off my civilian clothes and fold them, hiding them in a shadowed corner of the roof before flying off to meet my partner.

X

Ooooh, the plot thickens:D Short chapter here, not much action, but it was necessary to set things up.


End file.
